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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22780798">bear &amp; maiden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches'>forpeaches (bluecarrot)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Awkward Conversations, EIGHT SEASONS OF IT, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Prisoner of War, Riverlands (ASoIaF), Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 16:01:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>670</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22780798</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>another ramble about their ramble in the Riverlands.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister &amp; Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>bear &amp; maiden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You will be careful of him,” said Catelyn: it was a question, a reminder, an order. She might have been speaking to one of her daughters.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How strange it was to feel mothered. “I can defend myself quite well, my lady. And he is only one man.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He is very good looking,” — annoyed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brienne did not answer. She’d seen nothing impressive in the damp, muddy clump the Starks had caged and tied up so carefully — certainly nothing to deserve such elaborate caution.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You should be careful,” said Catelyn again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, my lady.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Men like him have a way of finding chinks in your armor.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“My armor,” said Brienne, “fits me quite well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">*</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Kingslayer talked endlessly. He insulted her virginity and her island, called her a <em>great stupid ugly cow of a woman</em>, said she promised herself to Renly because only a man like that could bear to look at her — on and on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brienne built a small, hot fire and roasted a rabbit. By the time it was finished and cooling, he had stopped talking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In blessed silence, she separated the joints and handed over his portion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about you?” he said at last.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What <em>about</em> me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me about yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>You can’t want to know about a brutish clomping beast like me </em>she nearly said. “There’s nothing to talk about.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shifted his feet in the leaves, looking comfortable despite the ropes tying him to the tree. Maybe he’d gotten used to being tied. “You remind me of my brother, a bit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The Imp?” She stared. Was that meant to be another joke? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He is a dwarf, yes,” said the Kingslayer. “I didn’t mean ... I meant that you and he both treat me as a sort of appendage. A tool. Actually,” and he took another bite, “everyone in my family treats me that way.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s rude to speak with your mouth full.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Beg pardon, my lady. I must have left my manners behind in the Stark dungeons.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brienne didn’t reply.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">”A dungeon — are you going to eat that? Thank you. A dungeon is a very uncomfortable place to spend any length of time. I don’t know if you’ve ever been interred in one ...? It might even have been worse than being caged in that camp. At least in a cage you get fresh air. And I could annoy others with my stink, instead of only myself. </span> <span class="s1">Misery is easier to bear when it’s spread around.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was silent.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Am I annoying you?” he said, mouth full.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He annoyed her constantly. “How I feel about you doesn’t matter.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course it <em>matters</em>. We’re traveling partners. We ought to get along, you know. What would you like me to talk about?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Quiet,” said Brienne, “would be a welcome change.”<br/>
<br/>
*<br/>
<br/>
</span>The next day he spoke more, mostly stories about his life and childhood. He had left off complaining about her specifically, thank the gods.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brienne made little or no answer to his ramblings — they didn’t seem to require any; he only needed a captive audience, and he had that in his captor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When my sister was with child, the bigger she got, the more I worried. Our mother died giving birth to Tyrion, you know, and our father never forgave him.” A pause as he climbed over a fallen log, tricky to do with hands tied behind him. “Although Father isn’t the most forgiving of persons, generally, so perhaps he would have hated Tyrion regardless. But I thought, with my — my nephews, and Myrcella, I thought that I might hate the child, if it killed Cersei.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They trudged on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Kingslayer said, soft: “How can you forgive someone who kills the person you love?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Brienne felt — not pity — but sympathy. She said: “My own mother died, b</span>
  <span class="s1">ringing forth my sister.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And do you love her now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s dead, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah,” he drawled. “So you needn’t make a choice about how to feel. How lovely for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Walk faster,” she said, and jerked the rope, making him stumble on his feet.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i can’t decide if i prefer Book!Jaime or GOT!Jaime, so you get a little of both</p><p>*</p><p>Brienne calls Tyrion “the Imp” several times in ASOIAF, and Jaime is seriously annoyed at the rude nickname</p><p>... but Jaime calls Brienne all sorts of derogatory things as well, so</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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